Dog Days

[alexthezombie]

Alone, but I guess, in a way, not alone -- I have my books and my words and the blood in my temples and in my chest and in my fingers and feet: I have my shallow breathing to keep me company, maybe not, as it was once, in my ear or on my neck, but rather through my lungs and out my mouth. I have my bitter thoughts and I have my chair, upon which I've placed an old pillow to make it more comfortable. I have a phone next to my quiet television that is also quiet, because I've unplugged it from the wall. I have my half-empty cups in front of me, my bottles of water waiting to be thrown away, and in the drawer beneath my broken Playstation I have an old package of condoms, still unopened. I have my music, but not now, no-- it is too late in the evening or early in the morning, and my ears are too sensitive for the twisted plastic of the headphones that I've drug one too many times beneath sticky roller wheels. I have my dusty black-and-white photographs of the Gugenheim hung on my wall, my picture of a bird with a bug in its mouth: I have the shell of an eaten T.V. dinner to keep me company, and a skullcap to warm my head even in the heat of this damned summer. I have sheaves and sheaves of unwritten checks, blank forms and empty applications. I have the dull hum of a plastic fan to whisper to me while I sleep and a quilt to cover me. All of these things I have, and regrets, too: enough of them to clothe me, head to toe, and to disguise me if I let them.

But most of all, I think, I have you, o dubious Reader, whoever or whatever you might be. And though, at times, I see as through a glass darkly, I know that these dog days will end.

oh and this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLFCifVMfZE